Mârkandeya Purâna, books 7, 8 | Page 6

motionless in sleep he lay, he saw
A wondrous vision. By the power
divine
He seemed to wear another form,--a form
Both new and
strange,--and in that form to pay
The vow. Twelve years of expiation
passed
With difficulty. Then within himself
King Harišchandra
thought: "So too will I,
When I am freed from hence, perform my
vows
With generous freedom." Forthwith he was born
As a
Pukkasa; while a place was found
For him among the dead, and
funeral rites
Were ordered as his task. Thus seven years
Were
passed; then to the burying-place was brought
A Brâhman seeking
sepulture: in life
He had been poor, but honest; and the king,

Though he knew this--the dead man's poverty
And his
uprightness--pressed his friends to pay
The funeral dues. "Enforce thy
right," they said,
"And do this evil deed; yet know thou this:
Once
upon earth there was a mighty king
Named Harišchandra; though he
but disturbed
A Brâhman's sleep, through that offence he lost
His
merit, and by Višvâmitra's curse
Became a base Pukkasa." "Yet the
king
Spared not the dead man's friends, but still required
His fee.
Therefore they cursed him in their rage--
"Go!--go!--thou most
degraded of mankind--
Go to the lowest hell!" Then in his dream

The king beheld the messengers of death.
Fearful to look at, armed
with heavy chains,
They seized him, and they bound him hand and
foot,
And bore him off. And then, in fear and pain,
Headlong he fell
into the bath of oil
In Nâraka. There, torn with instruments

Sharp-edged as razors, fed on putrid blood,
He saw himself. For
seven years in hell--
Now burnt from day to day, now tossed and torn,

Now cut by knives, and now by icy winds
Frozen and numbed--a
dead Pukkasa's fate
He underwent. Each day in Nâraka,
A hundred
years of mortal reckoning--
So count the demons who inhabit hell.

Then he beheld himself cast up to earth,
His spirit entering a filthy

dog;
Feeding on things all foul and horrible--
Consumed by cold. A
month thus passed away.
His spirit changed its dwelling, and he saw

Himself an ass; and after that an ox,
A cow, a goat, a sheep, a bird,
a worm.
So day by day he saw his spirit change
Its outward shape.
A multitude of forms--
Some moving, others rooted to the ground--

Received his soul. And when the hundred years
Were passed and
gone, he saw himself again
Re-occupy his pristine human form--

Once more a king. And then he seemed to lose
His kingdom, casting
it away in games
Of chance. Turned from his home a wanderer
Into
the forest with his wife and child:
Devoured by a ravening beast, but
raised
To life again on earth, he sore bewailed
His wife: "Alas! why
hast thou left me thus?
Alas! O Saivya! where hast thou gone?"

Then in his dream he seemed to see his wife
And son lamenting:
"What hast thou to do
With gambling? Oh protect us, mighty king!"

The vision faded, and he saw no more
The cherished forms. And
then the dream returned
By power divine. And Harišchandra stood

In heaven, and he beheld his wife on earth,
With flowing hair,
dragged forcibly along--
Stripped of her clothes: the cry came to his
ear,
"Protect us, king of men!" Then, snatched away,
The demons
hurried him before the judge;
And Harišchandra seemed to hear the
words:
"Go forth! return once more to earth! Thy grief
Is well nigh
past and ended; joy ere long
Shall come to thee. The sorrows that
remain
Endure." The king, then driven from the sky
By Yama's
messengers, falling through space--
Senseless in fear and terror, filled
with pain
Yet more exceeding--thought within himself,
"How shall
I suffer all these torments sore!--
The changes manifold of form--the
pain

In Nâraka." Then Harišchandra sought
Aid from the gods: "O
mighty lords," he said,
"Protect me! O protect my wife and child!
O
mighty Dharma, thee I worship! Thee,
O Krish.na, the Creator!
Faultless ones,
Both far and near, before you now I come,
A
suppliant. On thee, O lord of prayer,
I call! on thee, O Indra too! to
thee
O ancient one! I pray--immutable!"
The vision fled, the king
arose from sleep.
His tangled hair, his body black and grimed,


Recalled to him his state--the plunderer
Of dead men's clothes. His
recollection gone,
He thought not of his sorrowing wife and child,

For reason failed. The loss of kingdom, wealth,
And friends, his
dwelling-place among the tombs,
Had overthrown his senses, and
destroyed
His mind. Then to the burying-place the queen
Came,
bearing the dead body of her son--
Pale and distracted. "My beloved
son!
My child!" she kept exclaiming, while she threw
Dust on her
head. "Alas! alas! O king!
O that thou could'st behold thy child," she
said--
"Thy child now lying dead upon the earth,
Killed by a
serpent's bite. Alas! my son!
So lovely! so delightful!" Then the king,

Rearing the sounds of mourning, went in haste
To rob the dead:
nor did he recognize
His wife, in that sad mourner, changed by grief

As if into another. And the queen
Knew not the form that stood
before her, clothed
In rags, with matted hair, withered and foul.

Then recollection dawned upon the king,
Seeing the dead child's
princely form, the thought
Of his own son came o'er him. "Ah! my
child!
What evil chance," he said, "has brought thee here!
A child